Lyrics Birdman – Money To Make
Text:
Intro
My niggas 100, my corner 100
The car cost a hundred, the trunk hold a hundred
Just smoking my ganja, this joint cost a hundred
Verse 1
Now I’m fucking with H, can’t be taking no shorts
We scoring the points, we done made it a sport
Scheduled to testify, never made it to court
I sprinkle pesticide, set a trap and you caught
You can’t be talking live when you walkin’ in the house
Fuck what you talkin’ ’bout, bitch, you walkin’ in and out
I ain’t whipping no ounce, ain’t touching no ounce
If you fuck with an ounce, get the fuck out the house
‘Cause it’s only squares when you come in here
So for all you squares, let me make it clear
Let me get it straight, I’m fishing to take
Not the fish in the tank
I got money to make
Hook
My niggas 100, my corner 100
The car cost a hundred, the trunk hold a hundred
Just smoking my ganja, this joint cost a hundred
The Nikes cost a hundred, the ice in abundance
My niggas 100, my corner 100
The car cost a hundred, the trunk hold a hundred
Just smoking my ganja, this joint cost a hundred
The Nikes cost a hundred, the ice in abundance
Hook
Verse 2: Mack Maine
That New Orleans Saints fitted, that’s my work hat
My niggas got that H, Percs, white and purp
And they shoot off one leg, they awkward like Dougie
Thug life, thug life, bitch, I’m feeling like ‘Pac
When I’m riding up your block
‘Bout to release the 50 shots off top
Your bitch here, you’ll get your issue
Your family, they gon’ miss you
They gon’ find you, we ain’t miss ya
Bury that boy with tissue since he was a cry baby
Your mami over your casket, asking «lord, why, baby?»
See I live in a world where they mistreat black babies
And in a hood that crank babies just to grow up just to jack babies
Bitch I’m from New Orleans, you can’t come where I’m from
Got a drum on a caper, Pa-Rum-Pa-Pum Pum
Boy I ain’t no fronter, it’s Ross, Mack and Stunner
I put 50 on 50, that’s why they call me 100
Hook
Verse 3
See we stunting, fuck with me, popping bottles, throwing money
Niggas giving headshots, bitch, no running
Them hundreds came fast, bitches came quicker
Wet candy paint sticky moving start dipping
We ran through the trenches, jumping over fences
Got it out the field, now my homies doing digits
Shinning on these bitches, after hour countin’ tickets
Got it from my Gs, now we on another mission
We focus on another saddle, another batch
Another bird full of H, nigga, comin’ like that
Slap back Caddy, dippin’ while we droppin’
Blowin’ while we counting, a hundred G’s in my pocket
Hook
